


Meet Me on the Equinox (Rewrite)

by Goddess_Under_The_Cupboard



Series: Flower Rain [2]
Category: Political RPF - Russian 21st c.
Genre: Hanahaki AU, Hanahaki Disease, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:49:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22619644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goddess_Under_The_Cupboard/pseuds/Goddess_Under_The_Cupboard
Summary: Autumn's Herald.The red spider lilies rest heavily on his hand, and it was a poignant way to describe him. Passionate, full of life but also carries a sense of sadness within him. He was as vibrant as Autumn, or for the lack of a better word, he was Autumn himself.Akin to the leaves that the trees shed out never to grace the mighty branches, Dmitry Anatolyevich left out a colourful trail in his life.
Relationships: Dmitry Medvedev/Vladimir Putin
Series: Flower Rain [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1627987
Comments: 35
Kudos: 17





	1. The Thin Line Between Dreams and Reality

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> Welcome to the edited and updated chapter 1 of Meet Me on the Equinox  
> I think I added more feels factor and I hope its enough ^_^

May 2012

_A disease bourne from unrequited love.  
_ _Our life has been a steady march towards death  
_ _It all depends on the probability on which ways we are going to die._

For someone who ruminates on probabilities daily, it did not occur to me that such a disease would exist, and I, the fool that I am, managed to contract such a condition that should only exist in fiction. Love can, indeed, kill you but not in the ways that you expect. 

Hanahaki causes the afflicted to cough to throw up flower petals and as the disease progress; the afflicted will die through choking in a mixture of their blood and the flower that blossoms in their lungs - such a poetic way to go. The fatality rate for Hanahaki is minuscule; it has a cure after all. The remedy is the admittance or declaration of love of the object of their affections. Alas, such a solution does not apply to mine. I managed to contract the incurable variant which the afflicted coughs up Red Spider Lilies. It is the most devastating form of Hanahaki to exist, as they say, proximity to one's beloved would speed the disease. I was advised that if I want to live long enough, I should resign from my job. 

_I could not  
_ _A songbird should not part with its master  
_ _Or the master cannot set his bird free_

It was twenty years ago when it started. I thought that my heart has already been set on Svetlana. I was mistaken because the one that truly captures it came to me in an unassuming and bright Spring day. I had seen him around before we formally introduce; however, I try to avoid him and his hawkish gaze. I tried my best, but I can not prevent what Fate has ordained for me. 

His icy gaze swept through the room, the large windows of the faculty room bathed him in light—his blond hair glinting in the sunlight, giving his rough appearance a soft touch. The sunlight fails to soften that gaze, and it bore into mine, assessing me if I am worthy of becoming his adviser or not. I never envisioned leaving academia, but my former professor, Anatoly Sobchak, highly recommends me to his deputy mayor. It is presumptuous of me to think that my work in Sobchak's campaign is enough to appease him. I tried to turn it down and pass the offered job to my other capable university colleagues. Still, Vladimir Vladimirovich merely shot down my suggestions and took me in his wing to work at the Committee of External Relations. 

Those five years were turbulent, despite it all; my heart would beat up painfully every time his gaze lands on mine and that accidental brush of our skin as I hand him papers send my head into a frenzy. What I am feeling is forbidden, something that is unforgivable, but I cannot stop my heart. I married Svetlana in the hopes that my heart will be content with her; however, it seeks and wants what it cannot have. I know what he has done, and I knew that he wasn't a saint. Despite saying that he broke away from his KGB past, it still lingers. Still demands from him to do something unspeakable but I was one of those who helped hide it away, for I know deep down, that there's a part of him, no matter how dormant it maybe that will be awakened, that part that longs to serve and change his country. 

Everything must come to an end, and I was not expecting nor hoping that our paths will meet once again after we lost the 1996 mayoral election. He whisked off to Moscow, and I was left behind in St Petersburg, watching his meteoric rise to power with constant pain in my chest. I had it checked, of course, to rule out whether I have a heart or lung disease. The ECGs, x-rays and blood work all came back clean; there was nothing there that could indicate why I felt such pain in my chest. One of the doctor's referred me to Anastasia Dmitrievna Popova. With how she looked, I never thought that she was a doctor as she reminds me of a mixture between the two professors from the children's book that I adore. Natsya merely told me to come back once I coughed up flower petals. I thought she must be a hack and it is preposterous that a flower would even grow inside the human body and that it is caused by unrequited love? Simply ridiculous.

An unexpected call intensifies the pain in my chest. I guiltily packed my bags under the watchful eyes of my wife, who gave me a knowing smile. A few months as a prime minister, the highest position of the land is suddenly entrusted to him. I faithfully supported him as a campaign manager until I am forced into this world. I never wanted to be in politics, but if this is where he would need me the most, I stilled my objecting soul and sacrificed all my ideals and shed off a part of me for him; only for him. He chose me to be the place holder of the post that he holds dear; I was not expecting it, nor do I want it. Throughout my tenure as president, the pain in my chest became excruciating. For his sake, I disregarded the pain, the atrocities I was forced to do and act my role well. During the last day of my presidency, and the day that we grew further apart as an impenetrable wall of distrust emerged between us, it happened.

_I coughed up my first flower petal today._

Of course, I remembered Natsya's words, and I frantically went into her clinic, showed her the petal, and she finally gave me a diagnosis. Hanahaki disease, she says, and I was the unluckiest man that she ever met.

_My forbidden love has blossomed into something horrible. It may have been a punishment from the heavens, but don't we always chase after the taste of something that is forbidden?_

_This recurring dream.  
_ _It haunts his waking moments with its dreadful conclusion._

_There are beliefs that we can alter our dreams to suit one's desired ending if they are aware enough. Vladimir Vladimirovich scoffs at these kinds of ideas; he does shush his ex-wife whenever she starts to babble about astrology and the paranormal. He dabbled on what he hated to change the course of this dream. Nothing changes, and it filled his heart with dread. His loss of control in his dreamscape brings utter frustration to his psyche._

**_ The prelude to his nightmare is a pleasant memory.  _ **

_He is sitting in his usual seat in the university library, watching the sleeping Dmitry Anatolyevich who is three tables away from him, his eyes feasted on the man's every movement. How those eyelids flitters as the man sleep and how those soft, thin lips parts as the man exhale. This Vladimir Vladimirovich's past time, he is watching a PhD, and civil law chair candidate sleeps on the library every day without fail. He knew that the man is avoiding him and that elusiveness excites him. The man seems capable enough to work for the organs, they've been working on Sobchak's campaign team together, and Dmitry Anatolyevich exudes certain qualities that the KGB is looking for, except for one fatal flaw. The man is too honest and earnest for spy work._

_He looks at his watch and sees that its 3:00 pm. As if on cue, Dmitry Anatolyevich waked up from his slumber and rubbed his eyes to remove the last vestiges of sleep. When he's done making that adorable gesture, he gathered up all of his things and left. Vladimir Vladimirovich followed his target out of the library too, but no matter how hard he tries, he can no longer catch up on the retreating back. He never even noticed that he started to run, and the scenery around him changed._

_He is now in a forest filled with peculiar, crimson flowers. It was the only source of light in this desolate place. He stumbled into a tree root and falls hard into the ground. He looked up and saw a bridge up ahead, and Dmitry Anatolyevich is half-way across. He willed his body to stand up, but his muscles refuse to listen to his commands. With shaking hands, he forced himself to rise on his feet and started to resume his chase._

_He has no clue about his objective in this dream. However, a voice in his mind and his gut was urging him to stop the prime minister from crossing the other side of the bridge at all costs and from drinking the contents of the porcelain bowl handed to him by a woman wearing an archaic nun's robes. The flowers that surround the field shone brightly, taunting him that he will not achieve his goal._

_He willed himself to sprint faster and, he's finally crossing the bridge. As if it was enchanted, the bridge that he's currently running on became never-ending or is it an illusion made up by his fraught mind. He can see the woman handing Dmitry Anatolyevich the bowl, and she directed a wan smile at him, conveying to him that his efforts are futile. His breath came out in harsh pants as he pushed himself further to reach Dima, who merely stood in contemplation._

_"Dmitry Anatolyevich!" he yelled out to snap the man out of his reverie._

_As if awakened by his voice, Dima turned to look at him. A sad smile creeps on the prime minister's thin lips. He is carrying one of those crimson blooms in his left hand, while his right softly holds the bowl. A strange emotion runs through those dull, blue eyes as Dima raised the bowl in a cheerful but mocking toast before downing the content in a single gulp._

_He is near enough, and he tried to grab the man's wrist to stop him. However, before his hands can encase the thin wrist in his grip, Dmitry Anatolyevich burst into fragments of light which flutters through his fingertips. The bowl fell into the bridge and disintegrated into tiny pieces, and the crimson bloom landed on the floor gently. He glared at the nun who merely offered him a sad smile as she vanished in the same way as his beloved. He fell on his knees and grabbed the flower._

_Bitter tears streaked down his face as he holds on to the flower. It is one of those rare moments that Vladimir Vladimirovich is crying genuinely, which is not for a political rally but for someone who meant dearly to him._

_His eyes snapped open._

He sat up rather quickly on his bed; sharp pains envelops his chest as if he did run hard. He lifted his right hand so he could try to soothe the pain, only to falter at his movement. Disbelief washed over him as he saw his hand clutching the flower in his nightmares. Objects in your dreams should never manifest in your waking moments, but here he is, holding the evidence of his failure. A thin line separates dreams and reality, the very same track that separates hopes and hard work. Vladimir Vladimirovich is a logical man, and his mind has given him a plausible answer that he can get behind. His security must have been too lax that someone dared to place a flower in his hand while he sleeps. 

'I must be losing my mind.' he thought as he went out of his bed, placed the flower on his bedside table and started his morning routine. 

As he went through the usual monotony of bathing and dressing for the day, he continued his ruminations. The dreams have become a staple part of his slumber; disrupting his few hours of sleep. He utterly despises the feelings of desperation and helplessness that consumed him in the dream. 

_To see his prime minister fading away._

He banished such ludicrous thoughts on his mind as he secured his tie on his neck. He should not dwell too much on the nonsensical aspect of his life; his dreams are purely a product of his paranoid mind. He glanced back at the flower on his bedside table, he picked it up and studied it. The flower seems to glimmer to remind him that he cannot delude himself that the dream was not real. He clutched it tightly on his hand and strode out of his room. 

He can feel the curious glances of his staff at the flower on his hand. His secretary approached him, and before she can spout the usual pleasantries, he brandished the flower in front of her. 

"Irina Anatolyevna, find out who placed this on my bed while I slept, they will be dealt with accordingly." 

"Yes, sir." Irina reaches for the flower but stopped at his cold glare. 

_He cannot simply hand the symbol of his loss of control over._

She lowered her hand awkwardly and cleared her throat to dissipate her creeping shame. Vladimir Vladimirovich listened as she started to enumerate his schedule for the day. However, her voice was drowned out by the thoughts that currently occupy his mind. Despite its vast landscapes, he knew that the crimson flower that he held on his hand is not endemic to his nation. 

"Sir?"

He snapped out of his thoughts and looked at the expectant face of his secretary. "What is it?"

"Your annual check-up is scheduled today, sir. The doctor is already here."

He gave an imperious nod to her as she leads the way to his office. His annual check-ups are usually conducted in the receiving room outside his office. Irina Anatolyevna opened the door and strode towards his doctor, who rose from his chair. But, the man froze at the sight of the flower in his hand. As they exchanged pleasantries, the doctor's curious gaze firmly remains on the flower. 

"Vladimir Vladimirovich about the flower in your hand, would you mind if I call a colleague to assist me with your check-up, today?"

"Do as you must, Ivan Nikolaevich," he told the man coldly. 

The doctor whipped out his phone and called the colleague, and he sat down to wait for the man. He tried to eavesdrop on the conversation, but can barely hear anything. His curiosity on the crimson bloom peaked as he gleaned the alarm, concern and fear on the doctor's eyes. 

"Is there something wrong, doctor?" he asked intently as the man ended the call and placed his phone back on his pocket. 

The doctor shook his head and gave him a small, hesitant smile as he gestured towards the flower that he is holding. "I cannot tell you Vladimir Vladimirovich for I lack the knowledge in regards to this. I hope you'll find her knowledgeable." 

He nodded at the man's words, and he commanded his secretary to postpone the rest of his meetings for the morning. It would take Ivan's colleague an hour to reach Novo-Ogaryovo. The man's incompetence bothered him; surely if there are ailments that involve this flower, a doctor can provide him with an answer right away. He's getting rather impatient; he wants answers. His impatience cooled down when Irina is asking for permission to let someone in his residence. He gave his approval and his secretary who nodded and relayed the instruction to his guards. 

A few moments later, soft knocks reverberate throughout the room. The door opens, and a petite, woman walked inside. His eyebrows rose as he took in her appearance. 

_A hippie._

He cannot believe the audacity of Ivan Nikolaevich to call this woman as his colleague. She was wearing a bohemian ensemble of a loose white top, a turquoise skirt, and her doctor's coat haphazardly thrown over her outfit. He sneers as her get-up often reminds him what the female socialites wore when they spend their vacation on a private island on the Maldives. He looked at her feather necklace hanging on her neck and the thick glasses magnifying her beady green eyes in disgust. She approached Ivan Nikolaevich excitedly, her beaten up leather bag swinging wildly in her movements. 

"It's been a long time, Ivan Nikolaevich. What do you have for me today?" she excitedly said as she shook hands with her colleague. 

"Likewise, Anastasia Dmitrievna. I was merely concerned with the flower on the president's hand, and I remembered our discussions about one of your patients." The woman followed his gaze; a knowing glint flashed through her eyes as she stared at the crimson flower on the president's hand. 

Vladimir Vladimirovich regarded the woman coldly as she approached him. She held out her hand for him to shake, and he gripped the small hand tightly to express his distaste. 

"Anastasia Dmitrievna Popova, at your service. It's not often that I get an audience with the president." 

"Are you knowledgeable as Ivan Nikolaevich says," he asked condescendingly.

"Do you doubt my abilities based on my appearance? No offence was taken, Vladimir Vladimirovich." Anastasia Dmitrievna chirp and a sad smile appeared on her lips as her fingers hovered on the flower on his hand. "May I?" 

He reluctantly hands her the flower, and she started to examine it. She sighed as he returned it to him. "It would be best if you dismiss Vanya and your secretary for a minute." 

He gave an imperious nod towards his secretary and Ivan Nikolaevich to dismiss them out of the room. As the door closed, she pulled out her stethoscope from her beaten up leather bag, placed the ear tips on her ears and hesitantly hovered the chest piece near his heart. "May I examine you?" 

"You may," he commanded, and as she listened to his heart; she starts firing questions. 

  
"Do you experience any chest pains?"  
"No" 

She placed the stethoscope on his back and asked him to inhale and exhale to check his breathing. 

  
"Any breathing difficulties?"  
"None." 

She shrugged and removed the stethoscope and put it back on her beaten up bag. "My next question will be a bit weird but bear with me, did you vomit and did the flower came up along with it?" Anastasia Dmitrievna asked seriously. 

"Preposterous, of course not!" he snapped, and he saw those bright green eyes widening in fear. "Vomiting a flower? That's physically impossible. I surmise that one of my staff became too insolent enough to place this on my hand as I slept."

"Heaven's warning." he heard her whisper and understanding flashed through her eyes. "You got this from a dream, didn't you. You were chasing someone in a field filled with these flowers. I suppose there's also a bridge and a nun is handing out something to the one you're chasing isn't it." 

He froze at her statement before schooling his face back to its usual emotionless mask. 

"How did you know?" he says quietly.

She sighed as she sat down in a chair across from him. She removed her glasses to wipe it clean in her coat before shoving it back to her face. 

"Vladimir Vladimirovich, what you are currently holding on your hand is a Red Spider Lily; the rarest manifestation of the Hanahaki disease," she said as a matter-of-factly and she stared at him waiting for him to ask her for elaboration. 

"Hanahaki?" he asked inquisitively.

"Hanahaki is a disease caused by unrequited love. The reason why I asked if you vomited that flower, despite it being preposterous is that the disease causes the afflicted to cough up or throw up petals or the full blooms itself. If the blooms are red spider lilies, it is incurable. It can be cured through surgery or by the confession of the afflicted's object of affection that they felt the same way. For the red spider lily, it signals that the afflicted's love can never be reciprocated, the remedies for normal hanahaki does not apply for the red spider lily despite surgery. The flower is poisonous and it lingers on the body." 

He ponders on the information that is given to him. Does this disease exist? It sounds dubious to the ears, and if her tone is not so solemn; he would have thought that this is an elaborate prank. His mind wandered on what she quietly whispered earlier. He could always take this with a grain of salt. 

"Indeed, I got this from a dream. What did you mean by Heaven's warning and the nun at the other side of the bridge?" 

She took a deep breath and looked at him in her unnerving, knowing gaze mixed with pity.

"Heaven's warning is another facet of the Red Spider Lily hanahaki. The object of affections often receives prophetic dreams of their beloved banishing, reminding them that they might be losing someone that they took for granted, that they overlooked. Countries in East Asia believed that these flowers guide the soul through the afterlife. According to the anecdotes that I managed to collect about the disease, the person at the end of the bridge differs from country to country; it is usually the first person afflicted by the red spider lily hanahaki on that country."

She pauses as she rummaged through her bag and handed him a battered book. The nun on the cover was the same one in his dreams. "I presume that you might know her, Vladimir Vladimirovich. You are quite knowledgeable about our history after all." she chuckled but stopped at the scathing look that she received. She composed herself and went back to relaying information to the president. 

"Eudoxia Lopukhina, the first wife of Peter the Great. She was the first case in our country. The tsar was never interested with poor Eudoxia, whom he married to appease his mother. It didn't help that the Lopukhins are backwards and represent everything that Peter the Great detest as he ushers Russia to modernization. Her letters were filled with appeals to the tsar about her unrequited love, and she also sends the red spider lilies that she vomited to him as proof of her undying love. However, as we knew, the tsar has forced his first wife to divorce him and sent her to a convent. She received a visit from the tsar when he learnt about her mysterious illness and his dreams of him chasing her in a bridge. He merely wants her to become a part of his collection of oddities. She died of old age, still vomiting the flowers. There's a plot in Novodevichy Convent filled with red spider lilies indicating that Eudoxia is buried on that spot." 

"It's possible to live long with this disease?" he asked as he skims through the biography given to him. 

_A warm smile and kind blue eyes flashed through his mind._

"It is said that proximity to the object of affection aggravates the symptoms further, which lessens the afflicted's life span. Eudoxia got exiled, and I think its enough to lessen the effect of the disease on her." 

"I still find this preposterous." He handed her the biography back, but she merely shook her head as she pushed it back to him indicating that she wants him to keep it. 

"If it pleases you, then I always think that it won't do well to dwell on dreams." she starts writing a prescription and handed it to him. "As the leader of our nation, you need ample sleep and it won't be good if you are being distracted by such dreams. I'll take my leave now, Vladimir Vladimirovich."

She flashed him a sad smile, and her eyes seem to look at him in pity as she stood up from her chair and paced out of the room. As he watches her leave, Vladimir Vladimirovich cannot help but think that the woman is hiding something and knows more than she lets on. 


	2. I Caught Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The president's musing at this unexpected news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-linear storytelling begins!
> 
> OST of this chapter is 
> 
> I Caught Myself - Paramore (Twilight OST)  
> YT: https://youtu.be/GLNni7IL268
> 
> Here's the link about what Vova was insinuating:  
> https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/russia/8194429/Dmitry-Medvedevs-wife-accused-of-offending-Bruges.html
> 
> About Sveta's list on government officials that disrespects her husband:  
> http://www.russialist.org/archives/russia-wikileaks-nov-380.php

_August 2017_

_Sveta, true to her name, is my pillar of light._

_She is the light that illuminated the darkest of roads that guides me out from my despair. However, the brightest of light can no longer reach the recesses of my soul, swallowed by the persistent darkness that gnaws at it._

_She's as warm as a summer breeze on a chilly autumn day. Her hair is as bright as spun gold, a comely face with a radiant smile and those cornflower blue eyes sparkling in delight as she extended her hand towards me in friendship. Bewildered, I hesitantly took her hand, and I gained a friend that puts up with most of my academic ramblings and fascinations. A beacon that guided me out of my monotonous routine of merely going home and studying. She filled my heart with such incredible warmth, and she coaxed me out of my shyness._

_I've already met the one that I considered as my other half._

_Even if my heart kept whispering her name, it is a relationship borne out of convenience. I am chosen out of her numerous suitors because she felt at ease with me for she sees me as a little brother that she can dote on and protect. Such revelation affected me that for once, I had to give it my all to pass an examination. A sliver of hope came in the form of a marriage pact between us._

_The pact entails that when we reach a certain age and have not found someone that holds our heart dear, then we'll marry each other. Without hesitation, I agreed. I've seen a future with Sveta, and maybe she'll learn how to love me as I love her. The pact can be triggered at any time if we wish._

_But then he came, bearing winter's overcast skies that shun away the sun in his wake. A tidal wave that upended what my heart believes in as he possesses it in his tight grip. Vladimir consumed my every waking moment and trapped my heart so quickly that I was afraid. I have seen it on that icy gaze; he will trample on my heart. He took pleasure in subjugating people, using and draining them until they are dry husks._

_I shamelessly begged Sveta to fulfil our pact earlier than we both hoped. She agreed when I told her the cause of this urgency; she solemnly vowed that she would safeguard my fragile heart and make it beat for her once more. Despite her assurances, guilt drowned my heart; it cannot alleviate the torment on our wedding day. I should not have dragged her into this path of loneliness and unhappiness._

_I thought that my marriage would deter Vladimir Vladimirovich, but I should have realised that it will not. After all, he's also wearing a wedding band back then. My first night as a married man, he took me roughly, which left bruises and marks for my wife to see, to stake his claim. I went home that night filled with shame and regret._

_Sveta bore witness to every mark that Vladimir left behind, seeing her hands shaking in anger as she soothes every bruise, and tends to my wounds. As tears stream down on my face, she'll embrace me and fondly call me her foolish boy. She knew that my constant apologies are futile for it will happen again. To put an end to this, I resigned as an advisor to the deputy mayor despite my heart's protestations._

_Through the years, she's been there to pick up the pieces. I knew that I made her feel inadequate as a woman, that she wasn't enough. She is regretful that she was not enough to stave off the flowers blooming within me. Sveta holds a grudge against Vladimir Vladimirovich for manipulating me, but I told her it was not his fault. Despite knowing what I am up against, I fell for his machinations deeply because my heart cannot forget, does not want to divert its attention._

_I do love her, Sveta will always have a special place in my heart. The light that showed me another facet of love: patient, selfless and warm. I pray that in another lifetime; fate will intertwine our strings. When our divorce was finalised, she swore to be at my side to fulfil her promise of protecting my heart, and accompany me as I take my final breath._

_I do have one regret; I should have heeded her persistence to revert to my comfortable life in St Petersburg. I could live longer and merely watch Vladimir from afar; however, my selfishness to serve my beloved outweighs such desires. I accepted the consequences of my ludicrous heart, and I can only hope that in my death, she could find the happiness that I deprived her of._

_The same recurring dream_

_He religiously took the prescribed sleeping pills to quell such dreams for the past three years. Vladimir is pleasantly surprised to find himself floating beside his prime minister, an unseen entity that observes Dmitry's interactions with the tsarina. Dmitry's trembling and bony hands take the bowl handed to him by Eudoxia Feodorovna, he gives the tsarina a thankful, but melancholic smile._

_Vladimir peered and studied the liquid that lies within the bowl, a dark, deep burgundy colour that reminds him of old faded blood splatters on the walls of the KGB's main headquarters in Lubyanka. His Dima slowly lifts the bowl to his lips, but the tsarina stops him from taking the liquid as she holds on to a frail wrist tightly._

_"My child, do you not want to reconsider? Your sovereign is determined to reach his humble servant; you do not have to bear the same fate." she softly asked as she stared up ahead._

_Vladimir followed the tsarina's gaze, and his eyebrow rose in astonishment as he saw himself stumble through the fields of red spider lilies, frantically trying to reach the end of the bridge. Vladimir turned his attention forcefully back to the pair; a tear landed on the bowl, causing ripples on the liquid within. Limpid tears stream out of the lifeless dark blue eyes and down to Dmitry's sallow gaunt cheeks._

_The prime minister shook his head and gave the tsarina a watery smile, "I am afraid, Eudoxia Feodorovna. If I waited, will my circumstances change? Will he answer the call of my heart? I can no longer endure such a beating to my fragile soul."_

_"My exalted sovereign did not even try to chase after this faithful servant. My Lord merely stood and watched as our bonds were severed, as these blooms welcomed me into its fold. Is this what you wish?" she inquired, and Dmitry gave a solemn nod._

_Eudoxia Feodorovna gently let go of Dmitry's wrist and pulled out a long, thin dagger from her sleeve. The dark blade glinted ominously, thirsting to do its task to sever, to put an end to such pitiful ties that bind a forsaken and weakened soul. She cleared her throat and started to chant a prayer to heaven's to release one's bind of misery._

_**May you find happiness.** _   
_The red spider lilies shone brighter to welcome another hapless soul._

_**May your soul be at peace.** _   
_The burgundy liquid changed; it became darker as the night's skies. A void that strips the heavens of its stars and will now extinguish his light._

_**And may you be freed,** _   
_As the tsarina said this line, a red thread appeared on his ring finger. Grief swarmed his heart as he saw the same string wound tightly on Dima's ring finger too. Eudoxia Feodorovna raised the dagger into the air, his soul screaming to put an end to this ritual, urging him to thwart the thread's severance. The president's ghostly fingers merely pass through her wrist._

_**From the ties that bind you.** _   
_The knife cleanly cuts the thread, it unwound from their fingers, and the howling wind sweeps it away. The tsaritsa returned the dagger to her sleeve._

_"Your soul's journey to forgetfulness has begun, may you attain the love deprived of_ _you, may you seek happiness." Eudoxia Feodorovna flashed a sad smile to his Dima as he brought the bowl once again to his lips._

_"Dmitry Anatolyevich!" he could hear himself shouting. A bemused but bittersweet smile slowly etches itself on Dima's lips. The prime minister turned around and faced his other-self._

_"Farewell, my Volodya." he heard him whisper as he raises the bowl in a sullen toast and down its contents in a single gulp._

_A bittersweet smile_   
_Lifeless blue eyes_

Turmoil rages in his soul as the sunlight disturbs his slumber. His emotions are in disarray as he looks at the faded, torn red string on his ring finger. His heart is reacting so strongly to the whispered words of the Dmitry Anatolyevich that resides in his dreams. He angrily removed the red string from his hand and placed it on his nightstand along with the red spider lily, despite receiving it three years ago from his dream; the flower remained fresh and vibrant. The prime minister's farewell reverberates endlessly through his mind, and he goes out of his room in a flurry of anger. 

Vladimir barked at his secretary to fetch Eudoxia Feodorovna's biography, and the rest of his staff avoided veering away as a murderous aura emanated from him. His secretary shakily handed him the memoir and today's papers as he sat down on the dining table. Vladimir angrily flipped through the book to find the information that he needed; and found it in the form of a footnote that took most of the page. 

_**Severance of Bonds: Red Spider Lily Hanahaki (String of Fate)** _

_In Eastern folklore, they believe that the red string of fate connects fated souls; this string can be tangled but will never sever. Dreams involving the red thread and its severance are often associated with the last stages of the Red Spider Lily Hanahaki._

_The severance is the final warning that the afflicted's enamoured will receive. As compensation for the sufferer's grievances because of a fruitless love, the heavens sever the bonds that tie them to their supposed other half._

_Receiving this dream entails that the afflicted has accepted the stark fate awaiting them: imminent death._

The president stiffly closed the biography; such a disease does not exist. It is beyond comprehension, beyond the logical conclusion. He does not trust the information from the book because Anastasia Dmitrievna, the supposed "specialist", wrote the memoir that currently rests on his table. Out of frustration, the president threw the tome on the wall, satisfaction coursing through his veins as he saw it split in two. Irritation consumed him as his prime minister continued to disturb his thought. Dmitry Anatolyevich is an insignificant toy, a pretty but devious songbird that he captured from the drab streets of St Petersburg. 

_He's more of a dog than a songbird._

The president grew bored with his prime minister; there are no more feathers to pluck. It sits patiently on its cage, waiting for its master's attention as it preens its remaining feathers. However, the master has gotten what it wanted from the bird; he stripped it of its freedom, corrupting its pure and fragile soul to suit his needs. When it served its purpose, he directed his attention to the new prettier songbird that he obtained. 

_Why does his heart say otherwise?_

The uncomfortable, stabbing pain on his heart remains as his subconscious fuels an unknown fear within his soul. It whispers to him that he became too complacent, that Dmitry Anatolyevich is slipping from his grasp once again. He dismissed those thoughts, for he has an army of dolls who are willing to tear themselves apart and devote themselves solely to him. He shot a glare towards his secretary, who followed his silent order to leave the room quickly. Vladimir turned to today's papers and surprise coursed through him as he read the headline.   
  
**_It made his eyebrows rise in amazement; a piece of unexpected news that he's confident that he would never see in his lifetime._**

An unknown emotion welled up in his heart; he could not describe the feeling accurately; however, he felt lightheaded and giddy. Happiness bubbles within him, and he nearly rang his secretary back into the room to command her to fetch his most exceptional bottle of wine to celebrate. He stilled himself and stared stiffly at the headline, pondering on what caused the split. Vladimir has this assumption that Dima and that chit is as thick as thieves, the divorce is abrupt. 

He must fire his spies in Gorki for they've neglected to report that there are rifts between the prime minister and his wife. The last report that Vladimir received shows nothing out of the ordinary; the couple remains amicable to one another and that they rarely stay at Gorki. The prime minister only graces the state residence with his presence when he's holding government meetings. 

_Is it a political move on the prime minister's part?_

No, this divorce is not politically motivated. There isn't too much fanfare, as much as the prime minister tries to mimic his actions; he knew that Dima would never use his divorce to bolster his popularity. Vladimir knew that his doll abhorred the spotlight; the reason must have been deeply personal. The announcement was released when the divorce was finalised. The president puts the paper down, picks up his cup of tea and takes a long sip of the calming concoction. 

Unwittingly, his mind traversed through the corridors of his memories. Vladimir sifts through it, looking for the ones that involve the woman who formerly held a tight grip on his prime minister's heart. 

_He'll never tire of the sight before him._   
  
The hypnotic, innocent, blue eyes briefly closed in contentment as a soft breeze came by, gently ruffling the young man's brown, wavy locks. The street sweeper's shift ended earlier than usual, Vladimir watched intently as the young man's eyelids fluttered open and turned his attention back to the book on his hands. A small smile is gracing that cherry red lips, as he flips another page. He spies the book title from his vantage point: The Master and Margarita. Such a shame that the Fifth Directorate delisted the book from its list of banned literary works.   
  
The KGB agent wonders if his amicable street sweeper has any subversive or defiant bone in his body if he harbours any ideals that are contrary to the Soviet way of life. The loud and rapid clattering of high-heels on a stone pavement distracted him, and he turned towards the source of the noise. A young woman with golden blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes steadily approaches his comely street sweeper. A typical Russian beauty but her radiance is subpar compared to the saucer-eyed boy who's sitting calmly on the bench; she obstructed his view as she stood in front of his target.   
"You never changed, Mitya," she said teasingly, and Vladimir hears the snap of the book as it closes. The young man jumped up from his seat and swiftly kissed both of her cheeks in greeting.   
  
Dmitry? Quite a fitting name for a young man that can beckon the trees to shed their leaves at his command. Such an absurd idea, it might have been the winds blowing at the leaves at the right moment. Vladimir frowns upon everything that is considered supernatural, which is further aggravated by his wife's fanaticism on astrology. Still, he has no words other than magical and uncanny to describe that scene five years ago. The delighted smile, the sapphire eyes sparkling in happiness and the wind tousled hair as the leaves flits and dances around Dima.

  
_Dima suits him better than Mitya._

  
"I am glad that you came Sveta." 

  
Vladimir rarely hears his voice, but he savours every moment when he hears that pleasant baritone. There came a time that he considered dragging the young man into his operations as lost tourists often gravitate towards him to ask for directions. His open and welcoming face is a magnet for those helpless foreigners, and hearing him speak through his broken and heavily accented English is an amusing sight that the agent always looks forward to. He has decided that he will not pull the young man into his odious world; it might destroy that vibrant and carefree soul. 

The agent pulled himself from his thoughts as he saw the duo heading towards the Tea House. Is the young woman his girlfriend? It doesn't seem so. Vladimir dissects their body movements as he discreetly follows them, his Dima had a longing look underneath his beam as he listens to her inane chatter. Meanwhile, the girl remained oblivious to the young man's look of affection towards her. 

The scent of tea and coffee assaulted his nose and the atmosphere of the café stilled, and the bright smile on the cashier's face fell as she saw him. This place is a frequent haunt for him to scout for possible foreigner's that he can manipulate. The staff can rest easy, tomorrow he'll be leaving for Germany, and this would be his last patrol of the area. Dima and his companion hushedly talk with each other. 

  
"This place is too expensive, Mitya." the girl abashedly whispers to Dima who merely brushes off her worries. 

  
"Don't worry, I've saved up two months of my student stipend and street sweeper salary for this and besides it's my treat, I am graduating next week," Dima replied, he turned his attention to the cashier. "Two honey cakes and a pot of tea, please." 

  
The woman quickly gave them their order and the duo sauntered off to sit outside; she turned her attention towards him. "What can I do for you today?" she told him quietly and handed him a bottle of orange juice. 

  
Vladimir noticed the shudder that ran through her body as he smiled at her. "Nothing, you may rest easy." 

The café staff are his unwilling accomplices; after all, they are a useful link to hook foreigners on his grasp. Dima went in and handed the tray back, he followed the young man outside, and Vladimir sat down on a table a few metres away from them. He watched as elegant hands gently lifted the teapot and slowly poured the golden coloured tea in the cups and handed the one to the girl who thanked him quietly. Dima eagerly digs into his cake; he gulped audibly as the agent saw those soft, cherry red lips gently enveloping the fork.

_He wonders how it would feel to have those lips wrapped around-_

He cut that thought off from his mind and returned his focus on watching the interaction between the two. The woman placed down her cup gently; he could see her finger skimming along the rim as she met the questioning sapphire eyes. She cleared her throat, and her fingers diverted its attention to the fork lying beside her teacup, she picked it up and sliced a piece of her cake neatly. 

"Congratulations, by the way. You should have told me that you are graduating next week so I could have prepared a gift for you. Anyway, have you decided what you want to do after?" 

Those sinful lips released its hold on the fork. "I am considering whether I should apply as an investigator in the prosecutor's office or accept to pursue further studies, it's budget funded by the university," Dima mumbled quietly.

However, through that reply; he had a glimpse of his personality. Vladimir heard his uncertainties about his future, a young man who's always unsure about his own decisions and continually worries about the what-ifs and what-nots. The hand lightly holding the fork moved and sliced another piece. As he took a bite, a bit of icing smudges itself on the corner of Dima's lip. His heart stopped as desire rolled over him when he saw a pink tongue, childishly swiping at the cream. Vladimir quickly opened the bottle of orange juice and drank hurriedly to soothe his parched throat. 

He glared at the woman's back for ruining such a sight as she wiped away the cream with a napkin and the grateful smile that she received at the gesture. He is quite thankful for the woman in ending such a delectable sight for he can no longer stop himself if such an act persists. The KGB has taught him to smother his urges and emotions, and his comely street sweeper is challenging his control. The vixen hurriedly put down the napkin and picked up her cup once again. 

"Are you considering the latter? Salaries from teaching are quite meagre; you have to supplement it through other jobs." 

Dima flashed her a sheepish look "You know me too well. I know, but I think teaching suits me the best for the moment. Enough about me, how about you? Are you excited to go to university?" 

Vladimir looked at his watch and inwardly groaned as he spots the time, he had to go back to headquarters. As much as he wanted to stay to snoop in on the conversation, duty calls. His credentials for his first overseas assignment are waiting for him. The agent stood up and gave a longing glance towards his street sweeper and compelled himself to move. At least, if his job does not end well, he looks forward to swiftly going home. 

  
_When everything ends, he knows where to go._

_He saw a glint of familiarity in the chit's cornflower blue eyes._

Dmitry Anatolyevich smiles hesitantly at him. He's not accustomed to seeing him in a bowtie, let alone in a wedding suit. There's a pang in Vladimir's heart, although Dima sports a serene expression on his face; he could see the shadow of torment behind his smile. His icy gaze flitted momentarily to the woman in white clutching into his advisor's arm, who merely gave him a guarded, yet, suspicious smile. 

_A venom administered to his veins, anger, disgust and an unknown emotion flowed through his body._

"Why don't you introduce me to your wife-to-be, Dima?" he said evenly, as his vengeful mind cajoles to tear the woman off from his doll.

"I apologise, Vladimir Vladimirovich. This is Svetlana Vladimirovna." he extended his hand towards her, and she momentarily let go of Dima's arm to grasp his. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Vladimir Vladimirovich. Mitya's stories fail to paint a proper picture of his boss." Vladimir can feel her perfectly manicured nails digging slightly into his skin, and her cornflower blue eyes bear a strange glint. 

_A challenge?_

A sneer curls Vladimir's lips as he tightened his hold, making the blushing bride wince. Something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue; an old rhyme that advises the blushing bride what to wear on her wedding day to ensure good fortune. He hopes that his harsh grip would leave a bruise on her dainty pale hand for it would be her something blue; a stain on her perfect day.

He releases her hand and relishes at his small victory. The air between him and the bride crackled; he was confident that their ties between this wench and Dima are friendship, judging from the interaction that he witnessed years ago. It seems that Svetlana has awakened from her obliviousness and returned his Dima's feelings. However, she snatched his satisfaction as she placed her hand back on Dima's arm. The bitter taste of jealousy flooded his mouth as his adviser's eyes filled with adoration as he beamed at his bride. 

_She's too-plain looking for such a fetching young man._

"Dima! Sveta!" a voice behind him yells." Come on they are waiting!" 

"We'll be off then, Vladimir Vladimirovich." 

"Congratulations," he said stiffly; a red, hot sensation covered his mouth as he spitted this word out. 

"T- thank you." Dima stutters, and he gives him a polite smile and starts leading his bride to the registry office. 

Vladimir bristled at the formality as he watched the couple walk away from him. They are walking far too slow for his liking; the act seems deliberate as though they want to rub their happiness on his face. He discreetly followed them and stayed outside the registry office. The murmurs of the couple's friend streamed through the slightly opened door. 

"A great match, isn't it?"   
"I've always known that they'll end up together."

The deputy mayor peered through the cracks and watched as the couple exchanged rings. Anguish and apologies swam on that dark, blue gaze as Dmitry Anatolyevich gave a hesitant smile towards his bride. When he received a reassuring nod from her, he gently took Svetlana's hand, lifted it to his cherry red lips and placed a reverent kiss on her knuckles before placing a ring on her slim finger. The unknown emotion twists his heart, and he averts his gaze from the ceremony. 

_He coerced his leaden feet to take him back to his office._

Anger flared through his body as Vladimir heard the cheers and outpouring of congratulations as he entered his office, and at its centre was his doll, who wears his beatific smile as he thanked the well-wishers. The deputy mayor noticed the smile dimming when his adviser saw him lurking behind their colleagues; the office stilled as they gleaned from Dima's expression that their boss had arrived. 

"Get back to work," he icily ordered, and everyone scrambled to get back to their desk. 

"Congratulations on your marriage, Dmitry Anatolyevich." he shot a glare at the woman who uttered that last greeting. 

He turned his attention back to his Dima and noticed that the gold band sitting gently on his doll's ring finger glinted teasingly at him. It stoked his anger further; he wanted to seize the man's hand and pry that offending ring away. An uncontrollable rage wants to burst forth from him, possessing him and urging him to punish his Dima, slap him and tear him apart for marrying that chit. He withered his adviser with a look, and he merely received an uneasy smile. 

Vladimir gave a cold nod and stormed towards his office, closing the door behind him with a loud bang. His rage continues to simmer, wanting to lash out and let itself be known. He shook his head as he tried to clear his mind; why does he feel this way? Why does he feel betrayed, cheated? The deputy mayor angrily grabbed the stack of documents on his desk and went out of the room. He paced calmly towards Dima's table and handed him the papers. 

"Kindly check this for me." 

His adviser nodded, smiled softly at him and received the documents without complaint. Vladimir saw that his other staff looked at Dima in pity as the amount of paperwork would force him to work overtime. The deputy mayor knew that by giving him that workload; he deprived his adviser of spending quality time with his wife. Making him stay is not enough to abate his anger; he wanted to hurt and consume him. 

Vladimir went back to his office, and he stewed on his thoughts; devising ways to punish his doll. The clock ticks slowly as he dawdles, watching Dima flit through one document to another, his doe-like eyes magnified by those atrocious gold-rimmed glasses. The reddish glow of the setting sun filters through his office window, signalling the end of the day. His office door swung open, and his secretary bid him good-bye; he gave a curt nod to the man and ordered him to leave the door open. The deputy mayor surveyed the only person left from his desk; Dmitry Anatolyevich pored over the document while the pen on his hand flourished as he wrote his suggestions or corrections. 

"Dima, come to my office." he coldly called out, and his adviser jumped as he heard his voice. 

"For a moment, Vladimir Vladimirovich." 

Vladimir watched as the man tidies up his desk, stacked the documents neatly and removed those glasses from his face. He tapped his finger on his desk as he waited for Dima to enter his office; the deputy mayor could feel the anxiety radiating from his adviser as he stared at him. 

"Close the door," he ordered. Dima followed his command, and the soft click of the lock rang throughout the room. 

His adviser approached the chair in front of his desk, but Vladimir shot him a pointed look as he gave a commanding pat on his lap. He heard Dima's nervous gulp as he rounded the desk and carefully sat down on his lap. 

"Vladimir Vladimirovich, I don't think that-" Dima whispered weakly as a hand started to remove his necktie roughly. 

"Listen carefully, Dima. If you thought that marriage would deter me from going through with our arrangement; you are sorely mistaken," he whispers in Dima's ear before nibbling it. His nimble fingers are divesting his adviser's coat. "You've never told me stories about your wife, be a dear and tell me how you two met." 

Vladimir smirks as Dima inhaled sharply as his hands started to play with his nipples through his shirt. "W-we studied at the sa-same school, but she's from a parallel class. We met during the winter trip through a snowball fight."

Puppy love, that evolved into a marriage? He is confident that such a partnership will not last, although; the fondness in his adviser's voice dissuades that certainty. Dima started trembling as he slowly opened his shirt taking time with each button. 

"You've been together since seventh grade, and you have not mentioned it to me?" he stripped the shirt off from Dima; throwing it on the floor, the deputy mayor slightly smiled as his eyes met flawless porcelain skin. His tongue devoutly laved at and sucked the pale neck; his teeth grazed the delicate flesh before it sank into it hard to leave a mark; his actions earned a sharp gasp.

"It never came up in our conversations, and I don't think that it is necessary, Volodya." Dima quietly said. 

Something within him snapped, and he angrily pushed Dima out of his lap, causing him to fall to the floor. He pounced on him and straddled his adviser; those navy blue eyes looking at him in confusion as he grabbed his left arm and removed that offending band. He pocketed it and became an unsettling weight on his pant pocket. Those cherry-red lips parted, probably to speak up at what he has done. 

Vladimir smothered those complaints as he kissed him hard, shoving his tongue inside Dima's mouth claiming its every recess. If the deputy mayor could only suck out his adviser's bright and fragile soul through such an act, claim it and never let go; he will deprive the world of such light as he took it for himself. Hesitant hands grabbed his lapels and pulled him closer as he deepened the kiss. 

The deputy mayor broke off the kiss and rested his forehead against Dima's. They incessantly pant for air, and Vladimir busied himself to stare at the conflict running through the limpid navy blue gaze. Self-hatred, resignation and melancholy meld, making those innocent eyes darken; such emotions should never grace them. He claimed those soft lips once again, satisfaction coursed through him as Dima's eyelids fluttered close in pleasure. 

Vladimir's heart pounds as he hearts the soft moans emitted by that sinful lips as his hands raked that pale chest. His mouth following the path that his fingers paved, littering bites and kisses on the immaculate, milky skin; marring it. When those dark blue eyes opened once again, lust and need glinted heavily through them. Spurned by that look, he frantically removed Dima's belt and pants, leaving his adviser in his underwear. 

"Volodya, please," Dima begs as Vladimir massages his crotch, his body trembles as it seeks more. 

The deputy mayor briefly kissed his adviser as he pulled down the underwear. His lips are trailing devout kisses on the sparse hair that leads to Dima's cock; he blows on the rosy tip, amusement courses through him as it twitches, enticing him to take it into his mouth. Vladimir grabbed it gently, gave it a long lick before engulfing Dima into his mouth. Timid fingers cards through and clings to his blonde hair; he gripped into the bucking hips tightly preventing Dima from moving. 

He bobbed his head earnestly, running his tongue on that sensitive vein and dipping its tip on the cock's slit, eliciting gasps and moans from Dima. Vladimir's other hand trailed back to Dima's chest, pinching and tugging at his nipples. His fingers caressed and hovered at those soft lips, and as if sensing his silent command, a pink tongue darted out and laved his fingers. His eyes nearly rolled when a velvety tongue and warm mouth embraced them. Dima's tongue wet them thoroughly, and when he deemed that it was enough, he took it out of his adviser's mouth. 

Vladimir released Dima from his mouth and flipped him over, forcing him on all fours. He positioned the spit covered fingers in Dima's hole and shoved it in harshly. The deputy mayor hastily prepared and stretched Dima while kissing, biting and licking the expanse of his back. He brutally removed his fingers from that warm hole and quickly rid himself of his pants and underwear. Dima emitted a sharp gasp as he forcefully entered him. 

Vladimir gripped the man's waist tightly to cause bruises as he pounded into him mercilessly. An exultant smile spread through his lips as he could feel Dima's hips rocking into the rhythm he established. Vladimir grabbed the brown, wavy locks forcing Dima to arch his back towards him, the gasps and moans that the deputy mayor elicited from the man became a wonderful symphony on his ears. He turned Dima's head and kissed him roughly, engaging the other's tongue in a wild and passionate dance that stifles his groans. 

He gently lets Dima go from the kiss and smirk crept upon his lips as he whispers in his ear. "I do hope that your wife can satisfy you, Dima." 

A sob wracks Dima's body, and his body stopped its carnal movement; Vladimir laughed softly and kissed his ear lobe soothingly. He continuously thrusts into his advisor's body, disregarding the quiet cries. He took Dima's cock and rubbed it harshly, his warm walls eagerly hugged his cock, and it steadily drove him towards the edge. A few more thrust and they both came, his cum mingling with the tight hole. 

Vladimir pulled out of his advisor and released him from his hold, the man bonelessly collapsing into the carpet. He stood up, put his pants back on and surveyed the scene in front of him. A trail of his cum ran down on a bruised, milky thigh, and Dima's shoulder rapidly rising and falling as he took deep breaths. He crouched down, grabbed his chin and tilted Dima's head up, the sapphire blue eyes were unseeing, and his tongue darted out to taste the tears on his cheeks; it rivalled the exquisite wine that they tasted in their travels. 

"Remember that you belong to me, Dmitry Anatolyevich," he said coldly before giving the cherry red lips a peck. He let go of him, stood up and brought out Dima's wedding ring from his pocket. Irritation flooded him as he fiddled with the ring on his hand. And with all of his might, he decided to fling the ring across the room. A pleasurable feeling ran through his veins as he saw Dima shakily scrambling to find his wedding band and left the room. 

_The scene in front of him enrages him further._

Fate is continuously spitting on his face, Anatoly Alexandrovich lost the mayoral election last month. Vladimir despised election campaigns, unlike Dima who thrived on it and enjoyed its chaos. His co-deputy mayor decided to stab Anatoly Alexandrovich and ran against him, a spineless worm with no loyalty. Perhaps, if he only had Dima's expertise with him, they could have won once again and secured that 1.2%. 

The election bereft him of his job; he's considering becoming a taxi driver; his daughters are still young, and he has to provide a proper life for them. Vladimir visited his former haunt during his time as a KGB agent: Summer Garden. He's sitting on a bench where he saw Dima reading the Master and Margarita; he's here to clear his mind and think of possible ways to secure power once again. However, instead of getting a clear mind, his mood soured even further as he caught a glimpse of the couple walking out of the Tea House. 

_It's been three years since he last saw him._

Dima is pushing a pram, his face is serene, and the sapphire blue eyes were glinting in happiness as he talks with his wife. A relaxed smile plays on his former advisor's face as he looked down and saw his child trying to grab the falling leaves. Svetlana Vladimirovna lifted their son out of the pram and cradled him in her arms. Dima directed his wife to stand beside the statue and produced a camera out of his bum bag and snapped a quick photo. 

After that short photo session, Svetlana placed the child back into the pram. Vladimir took a good look at the boy, and he's taken aback by how much the child resembles Dima, he inherited the doe-like blue eyes and wavy brown hair. However, the rest of the child features came from Svetlana Vladimirovna. He stood up and started walking out of the garden to prevent himself from strolling towards the couple and breaking their tranquillity. 

He overheard from his staff that Dima became a father last year. One of them had to go to the hospital for a check-up and saw the former legal consultant carrying a bundle on his arms. A bitter tang covered his mouth as he heard the news, and a stabbing pain lanced through his heart as his Dima found rapture in someone else's arms. His hands balled into fists as he tried to dispel what he saw from his mind. 

_He vows that he'll reclaim his Dima back._

_He's not looking forward to meeting this chit._

How many years has it been since he last saw her? Vladimir plastered a forced, polite smile on his face as he shook hands with Svetlana Medvedeva. Those cornflower blue eyes bear a strange glint; it spoke to him that she knows of his deepest and darkest secret. Adorned with luxurious clothes and jewels, she basks on the attention that she's getting, a typical Kremlin wife. The polite smile transformed into a sneer as he saw the ambition in her cornflower blue eyes. 

_He'll nip that budding ambition._

"It's nice to see you again, Vladimir Vladimirovich," she said softly, but he can hear the thinly veiled displeasure at her voice; the feeling is mutual.

"Likewise, Svetlana Vladimirovna." he placed himself contemptuously between her and her husband. 

He heard her sharp intake of breath at his boldness; he knew that she would not throw a fit. The Easter Mass is her first formal appearance to the public as the new first lady and causing a scandal in the house of the Lord is detrimental to the image that she's painstakingly building: a gregarious patron of the arts. Satisfaction ran through his veins as she unwillingly gave her rightful place next to her husband to him. 

Svetlana Vladimirovna is a thorn on his side throughout the mass, as she frequently leans towards Dima to engage him in small talks. He's tempted to set her veil ablaze with his candle. His irritation dissipated when Dima edged closer to him and started to whisper government plans. However, at the corner of his eye, he notes the melancholy in Svetlana's gaze as she snoops in his interaction with her husband. A wry smile paints her lips, and she bears a stance of total surrender, conceding something to which he knows not. 

When the mass ended, Svetlana took her husband away from him hastily, and she briefly glanced at him, and he saw hatred dancing in that gaze. He cannot wait to trample all over her; she will not be what she envisioned. Vladimir will make sure that she will end up like his dear wife, forever hidden and out of the public's eyes. A wicked smile spread on his lips.

_Dima will do everything as he commands._

  
Russia day receptions are one of the events that he detested during Dima's term, aside from the Easter mass for he had to take that shrew with him. He's quite thankful that his estranged wife despised her role and has avoided such events. Svetlana Vladimirovna is a complete opposite of his wife; the gregarious wench thrives and basks on the attention. Vladimir is quite certain that she meddled with the sitting arrangement as she sits between him and the president. 

The prime minister can hear the champagne flute crinkling in his grip as her simpering laugh grates his nerves. He watched as those navy blue eyes sparkled in delight to Svetlana's idiotic quips. His irritation is mounting as he continues to watch the interaction between the Medvedevs and the minx seems to taunt him by placing her hand gently on Dima's. She sneered at him, and Vladimir forcefully painted a polite smile on his lips. 

If this woman only knew what he did to her husband. 

Well, this is the last Russia day that he'll have with this woman; Vladimir vows that when he ascends to the presidency again, he'll issue a directive with banning all Kremlin wives to state events. He will deprive her of attention that she desperately wants, but what he wanted the most borders on fantasy. Vladimir would dearly love to eviscerate her and scatter her remains throughout all of Russia. His wicked thoughts are interrupted when an aide approaches Dima who had to excuse himself from the table and do his task as the president: mingle and greet the guests. An oppressive atmosphere settled in the air as he and Svetlana Vladimirovna were left on the table. 

"Mitya is too bright, isn't he? It is such a shame that someone around him wants to stifle that." the chit told him quietly, a pointed look is thrown at him while she fiddles with her wine glass.

_She dared?_

Vladimir scoffed at her audaciousness, yes, he knew about and saw her list. This chit holds a vendetta against those that disrespect her husband. He knew that despite not being on the actual roster, his name is at the forefront of the one that is on Svetlana's mind. He needs to remind her of her place, that she's merely an insignificant little insect beneath him. Dima is a pawn of his, and the power that he wields is borrowed. 

_It is through his grace that her husband became the president._

"Are you not referencing yourself, Svetlana Vladimirovna? You've been upstaging your husband with the controversy that you brought home recently." he shot back, insinuating that he knew of her deplorable entitled diva act during her visit in Bruges. Delight filled him as he saw her broken composure and her cornflower blue eyes flashing in irritation.

"I may not have the same power that you wield, Vladimir Vladimirovich. However, for Mitya's sake, I swear to the heavens that I will do whatever it takes to bring you down." 

"I look forward to such a ridiculous notion to come into fruition." Vladimir raises his glass towards her in a mocking toast. 

Svetlana Vladimirovna returned the toast with the same mocking intensity. 

"Astute as you are, there are things that still go unnoticed by your hawkish gaze," she sharply said as she stood up from her seat. "If you'll excuse me, Vladimir Vladimirovich, I saw my good friend Alla Borisovna. I must greet her."

Vladimir slammed his glass angrily, causing the plates to rattle slightly to the edge. Is she hinting at a sinister plan to derail his presidency? Is that a threat? What could be the things that went unnoticed?

_Is Dima planning to betray him?_

_He has forgotten that he picked up a bear from the drab streets of St Petersburg._

The bear finally bared its fags at its master, his doll's second betrayal. The citizens who once adored him filled the streets, protesting his return to the Kremlin. Dmitry Anatolyevich and his chief of staff encouraged such a movement. He thought that the timid man is safe enough to be the place holder to the presidency, he never manifested such grand political ambitions, nor his blind loyalty wavered. 

_No one is immune to the allures of power._

Vladimir did ruthlessly suppress the dissent against him; however; it remains as a stain on his otherwise pristine image. Such ideals, which his doll also embodies, are not something that their country needs. Stability is a necessity for a turbulent nation to prevent its disintegration. His toy threatened the security that he painstakingly cultivated during his past two terms by touting his idealisms of freedom.   
  
Exaltation for his return to the presidency filled the hall, most of it coming from his siloviki who are quite eager to have him reverse his doll's detrimental policies. Since they had a taste of it, the people would always crave the freedom that he violently wrenched away from them. Vladimir will make them put their faith on him once again, whatever it takes. He'll make sure that the citizens revile their guarantor of freedom.

  
The Medvedevs are oblivious to the atmosphere of jubilation around them; they are huddled in a far corner of the hall, hushedly speaking to each other. The haunted and melancholic look that the former president spots on his face is not apt for such an occasion. He steadily approached the couple intending on bursting their little moment to clink glasses with them. Dima's elegant hand raises itself to cover his lips as a cough rack him.   
  
Vladimir did not miss the alarm that briefly appeared on Svetlana Vladimirovna's face as his doll looked at his hand. As if sensing his approach, Dima shoved the hand to his pocket and turned around to face him. The couple is wearing strained smiles as they greet him, worry exudes from the vixen in waves as she lingers behind. He peered into the navy blue eyes and saw the emotions that he hated the most swimming into those weary orbs.  
  
"May your presidency be fruitful, Vladimir Vladimirovich," Dima chirped as he clinked his glasses with him.   
  
"So is your premiership, Dmitry Anatolyevich."   
_  
The self-hatred, resignation and melancholy intensified further.  
  
_

_His doll has become distant_. 

Vladimir has never forgotten Dima's transgressions. He duly punished him by tarnishing his doll's reputation through documentaries that showed his weakness. The president also castigated the prime minister's deputies to spur the Duma to threaten his puppet with a vote of no confidence. Despite all of the political sabotage thrown against him, an apologetic smile is present on Dima's face as he weathers and endured every attack.

Svetlana Vladimirovna's shining light reduced to nothing more than a flicker who's barely hanging on. The sapphire blue eyes lost its luminosity despite its owner projection of cheer and optimism. His prime minister became the whipping boy that would take all of his political faults, and he seems content on his new role. The emotions that he detests seeing in that gaze became a permanent and irreversible feature.

 _Vladimir received a resignation letter after a year of Dima's premiership._  
  
His heart beats wildly on his chest as he saw it lying on his desk, how dare he? His doll has not suffered enough for his betrayals. He will only give him the freedom that he dearly seeks when there's nothing left when the light fully extinguished. Vladimir angrily tore the paper in half and as a punishment; he deprived Dmitry Anatolyevich of his remaining allies. 

The president relishes on the moments as he saw despair flitting through those navy blue eyes. It irks him to no end that he cannot break the man's spirits, Dmitry Anatolyevich will only smile at him and receive the political beatings without complaint. The free-spirited man did break; the bright smiles given at him never reaches the empty eyes. His doll has become passive, subserviently fulfilling his bidding and his idealistic allure, gone. A sharp pang went through his chest as he entertained a particular thought: 

_Where did his Dima go?_

_An empty flat greets him._

It seems that his presidential aide noticed the tracker that he attached to him earlier than he expected, giving enough time for its occupants to escape. Sure enough, as he entered the make-shift hospital room, he noticed the remains of the tracker on the carpet. Vladimir's eyes flit around the room, and his heart sank as he saw the still open ventilator and the heavily bloodstained bedsheet. The metallic smell of blood heavily assaulted his nose; the air around the room is saturated by it. 

He approached the nightstand when the two books and a portable x-ray machine grabbed his attention. The president peers first on the screen attached to the device, tears pricking at his eyes and a bitter taste floods his mouth as he sees the roots and flowers that slowly takes his Dima's breath away. He now turned his attention to the books; he disregarded Eudoxia's biography and grabbed the leather journal that demands his attention. Vladimir sat on one of the chairs near the bed and started to skim its contents; he froze as he reached a particular page. 

_A broken red thread._   
_A bittersweet smile._

His heart beats frantically at his chest as he looks at the other half of the red thread that he caught in his dreams a few years ago lying on the page. A painful lump suddenly lodges itself at its throat as he gently caresses the splotches of tears and the droplets of blood marring the page. 

"Did no one tell you that it's impolite to read someone's diary?" a soft but cold voice snapped him out of his reverie. Vladimir looked up and saw Svetlana Vladimirovna restrained by one of his guards. He closed the diary softly, and grief is swimming on that cornflower blue gaze as he places the journal on his coat pocket. He stood up from his seat, approached Svetlana and grabbed her face. 

"We found her lurking in the flat, sir." the guard said gruffly and she calmly stood in front of him. 

"Unhand me." she spat at him as her phone started ringing. 

Vladimir took it from her pocket, a smirk appearing on his lips as he saw Vladislav Yuryevich's name on the screen. The president knew that he's dubbed as a technophobe, but he knows how to use this phone. His hand shook as memories of a warm hand guiding him through the screen, kind smile and the lively dark blue eyes twinkling in amusement assaulted his mind. He puts it on speaker mode, and his presidential aide's voice spilt out of it. 

"Sveta, where are you?"

He smiled contemptuously at the chit, and he tightened his hold, causing her to hiss in annoyance. She gave him a defiant smile, "Slava, do you remember that Pink Floyd vinyl that Mitya lent you?" 

The other line is too still for his liking. The despicable wench is brazenly talking in codes in front of him.

"Yes, I remember."   
  
"Good, because I want you to hide it. Never let Mitya find out where it is." She spoke coolly, and her eyes seek his; gazing deeply into it. Vladimir felt the dismay emanating from her and her jaw clenching in frustration as she cannot find what she is looking for.

He intervened "Vladislav Yuryevich; it would be wise if you'll bring the prime minister back here."

The man on the other line darkly chuckled and dropped the call; Vladimir glared at Svetlana Vladimirovna and grabbed a fistful of her hair, shaking her violently. 

"Where is he?" he asked hotly.

"I won't let you see him." 

That statement stoked his rage further, Vladimir relinquished his hold on Svetlana's hair and slapped her hard. He gripped her chin harshly, and he leaned forward; disdain courses through him as his thin lips briefly brushed the vixen's ear. 

"He's mine, Svetlana Vladimirovna. Never hide my possession from me." He whispered coldly.

"Is that how you feel? I was wrong to assume that you can provide him with salvation. I won't let you hurt him again. You've done enough." she whispered back resentfully. 

_He walks as lightly as the leaves that float gently down into the ground, a noticeable spring on his steps as he abandons his sorrow behind. The serene smile that you first saw on his face all those years ago flits on those lips shadowed by longing and melancholy; emotions that you never wanted to see on his face nor in those innocent blue eyes. Vladimir felt needles stabbing incessantly at his heart spurning him to chase after Dmitry Anatolyevich. He held his ground and tore the resignation paper in half as he watched Dima leave through his window._

**_He's merely a toy._ **   
**_Why do betrayal and loss rear their ugly heads at his heart and mind?_ **

A tear ran down on his cheek and that she looked at him bewilderedly; a grumbled satisfaction dancing in her cornflower blue orbs as he gave her an answer that she's desperate to see. Loss drowns his heart; every breath he takes is painfully constricting his lungs, leaving him gasping and weak. He tries to fight the unknown emotion taking hold of him; however, his mind is currently not his ally; for it supplants his rational thoughts with images of his worst fears. 

_A hand is raising a bowl in a sullen toast._   
_A softly whispered farewell._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think?  
> I edited the chapter! So tell me what you think about the new and improved one :D


	3. Losing You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Quid me nutrit me destruit."  
> -What nourishes me also destroys me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> So welcome to another instalment of Meet Me on the Equinox
> 
> The OST for this Chapter:
> 
> Losing You - Laura Brehm & Ephixa  
> YT: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9vN534jMCUU
> 
> A/N: I decided to put a Latin quote here because I remember that Dima taught Roman Law and would often leave quotes in Latin on his student's papers because he's such a huge nerd. 
> 
> Samurai reference about Vladislav Surkov can be found at Mikhail Zygar's All the Kremlin's Men. I highly recommend this book :D
> 
> Also the link about Dima's e-mail leaks: https://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/aug/14/dmitry-medvedev-russian-pm-twitter-account-hacked
> 
> Information about Seraphinite: 
> 
> Metaphysical properties: https://www.healing-crystals-for-you.com/seraphinite.html
> 
> Pictures of the cufflinks: https://listers.co.in/Upload/Ebayimages/CHCL-9.jpg
> 
> Seraphinite facts: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seraphinite

_September 2018_

_Slava._

_He's the wild bird to the tamed and caged nightingale. The forest bird that mocks the songbird by telling it stories of the vast blue skies, the caress of the winds on its wings and its numerous perches provided by the ancient and mighty trees. He narrates to the caged bird the idea of liberation and coaxing it to remember that it is not too late to take flight. However, despite the tempting offers of freedom, the songbird adamantly stayed for he knows not of what lies beyond his cage._

_For many, he is a loyal samurai faithful to his emperor. However, his writings as of late were considered heretical by the staunch followers of Putinism. He mentions that the system could prosper without the emperor. We will live and die exalting the eternal rule of Vladimir Vladimirovich._

_His and mine's relationship never began on a good note. He was my subordinate back then when I became Volodya's campaign manager in the early 2000s. Vladislav Yuryevich is a man full of political ambitions and thinks so highly of himself that it is frightening to some degree; I saw how he could wreak havoc to please the president. It became an unspoken contest between us. Were not so different, we profess the same love for Deep Purple. However, he's more actively shaping the political landscape while I watch on the sidelines—a devoted soldier who will never garner the recognition that he craves._

_I never noticed when those umber eyes that were so full of hatred of me change. I could see respect and fascination as it turns to me, even more so when I became the president. Perhaps I unknowingly earned his respect by pursuing my path and trying to break away from the mould. The samurai has found a new lord and wishes for him to seize power; however, the lord does not have such an ambition._

_He sacrificed himself for nought. Out of love, I wholeheartedly returned the power that was never mine. I know he resents me for it, he stormed inside my office, demanding that I took the chance to freedom. I declined, and as he looks into my eyes, he realises that I am a fool. But, still, his supposed last act of kindness towards me, perplexes me. He should not have offered himself back then; it is solely my fault. The government has not enacted the May decrees as fast as Vladimir Vladimirovich hoped._

_I did not mean to involve Vladislav Yuryevich in this ruse, but if I need an ally that has a similar thinking process to Vladimir, then he's the perfect fit. He's been keeping my secret for six years; always been at the right place and at the right time. He saw me spilling out the flowers in the washroom after a meeting with Vladimir. It's probably the first time that I saw those brown eyes looking at me in pity; he only asked me if I knew what is ailing me, and I gave a defeated nod. I've lived in fear during those moments; he could use that information as leverage to achieve his dreams, to be a part of Vladimir's inner circle._

_Self-destruction at it's finest is how he describes my hanahaki. He gets poetic with it, sometimes philosophical. He's been a tremendous help and a great company. He made me face the glass skeleton in my closet, the former facets of me that I destroyed to survive. He guided me to embrace it, letting my blood become the bind that puts it back together. He helped me regain what I once was, and this would be the mask that I shall wear for it will not give away the turmoil that swallows me within._

_Our plans for my quiet death is going swimmingly well, and I thank him to the bottom of my heart. I do hope that our paths meet again, Slava. I do wish that you'll find the emperor which your heart will contentedly serve._

His icy eyes and face as blank as a canvass never yielded to any jarring situations that his country faced, except for this one. The protest was now putting a dent on his carefully carved mask. He ensured that those who were loyal to him occupy the highest on the most echelons of the government. 

_But was he sure that the people whom he trusts will not betray him in the end?_

A scornful smile appeared on his lips, Vladislav Yuryevich never fails to amuse him. He should have known. His Grey Cardinal did approach him with a new plan in tow, convincing him that it would be wise to let Dmitry Anatolyevich run another term. However, it's been too late. His plans to ascend to the presidency has set in motion, and Dima has willingly returned his borrowed authority. 

_He merely gave his doll an illusion of it._

He wondered what brought on this change in Vladislav Yuryevich. He ordered him to stay in the presidential administration to sow discord, to keep Dima in line if he strays. Surely, his Grey Cardinal does not harbour the same ideals of freedom that his protegé espouses. Although, seeing him going through such great lengths, knowing that the protests are futile is admirable indeed. 

He has lost the love of his people, but his Dima cannot grant them the stability that they need. He'll punish his doll for daring to go against him. As soon as Vladimir started his third term, deprived him of his allies, destroyed the initiatives and laws that Dmitry put forth and annihilate his image to the public. He took great delight knowing that the people, now calls his doll "the pitiful". 

He demoted Vladislav Yuryevich by stripping his "Grey Cardinal" title and exiling him to the government. 

_A mistake that he should not have done and he needs to rectify._

His Dima was encouraged even more with Vladislav Yuryevich's presence; it seems that his doll was under the delusion that he could replicate the same power that he wields as a prime minister. He's experiencing dissent from the one that he trusted the most; it seems that Dmitry Anatolyevich was not content with such a change. 

Vladislav Yuryevich did not even last in his government position in a year; he corrected his mistake as he demanded blood for the failed May decrees. He saw those umber eyes shining in determination as it shot a stern look at the prime minister, silencing him. His former Grey Cardinal stepped forward, took the blame and resigned from his post. Dmitry Anatolyevich forlornly looks at the Vladislav Yuryevich giving him a small, albeit, confused smile of gratitude. 

_Three months after he took Vladislav Yuryevich back to the presidential administration._

_His prime minister when back to his role as a submissive scapegoat, as it should be._

_His lips thinned in displeasure as he watches the scene before him._

"How's my favourite most hated person in Russia?" Vladislav Yuryevich mirthfully asked as the prime minister sulkily walked into his office, sat in a chair and places a chessboard on the desk. 

"Never better, I am pretty used to it." Dima shrugged as he opened the board and started to set it up the pieces. 

"The ski-trip that you took when there's a massive protest calling for your resignation is a perfect touch, Marie Antoinette would be proud." 

The prime minister's grip tightened on the white rook that he's holding and threw it at the smirking presidential aide. Vladislav dodged and went out of his chair, picked up the piece that Dima flung at him and sat back down. 

A meeting between these two men is a regular occurrence; the prime minister often drops by to the presidential aide's office before going to his scheduled meetings with the president for a quick chat or snacks. Rumours are circulating the presidential administration that these meetings are triggering the paranoia of Vladimir's silovikis, such fears are valid. The two men in the room have given their blessings to the biggest protest against Vladimir Vladimirovich after all. 

"Go ahead." the prime minister gestured for the presidential aide to make his first move.

The two men became engrossed on their game. The only thing that disturbs the tranquil atmosphere is the soft clack of the pieces against the wooden board, the black pieces on the board slowly dwindled. Vladislav Yuryevich's widen in surprise as the prime minister carelessly put his queen in front of his rook. The presidential aide did not waste this opportunity and took his opponent's powerful piece. 

"Checkmate," the prime minister happily said as he moved his bishop in front of Vladislav's king. It was a gruelling thirty minutes, and the presidential aide sighed in relief that the game is over. 

"This gave me another glance at your personality, prime minister." the presidential aide teasingly said as he picked up Dima's queen, twirled the chess piece in his hand for a bit and placed it at the centre of the board. "How many pawns are the equivalent of a queen?"

"Nine," Dima utters while staring intently at the piece. 

"You gave it away at the early game for a rook, an unequal trade. You have won by using your not so best pieces to protect your king." Vladislav Yuryevich pointed at the piece while giving the prime minister a stern look. 

"What I did is called a queen's sacrifice, Slava. Do not be so philosophical about a game of chess." Dima snaps as he started packing away the chess pieces back to its board. 

"Sacrificing the best part of you and making do of the pieces that you accumulated over time will not help you attain your goal. It's high time to reclaim yourself back." 

Vladislav stopped Dima from closing the board, grabbed the black queen and placed it on the prime minister's hand. Dmitry flashed a sentimental look on the piece and gave the presidential aide a wan smile as he puts the queen back to the chessboard. 

"Quid me nutrit me destruit, Slava," Dima said sadly; the presidential aide huffed in exasperation and crossed his hands to his chest and glared at the prime minister. 

"Be that as it may, it is perfectly understandable to wean ourselves off from the bonds that destroy us." 

"I cannot call it a proper bond." the prime minister gave him a sad smile and stared at the window. 

Silence crept between the two men as their thoughts occupy their attention. The presidential aide loosened his arms and took a box out his pocket and placed it on the table. His actions distracted the prime minister away from his thoughts and gave Vladislav a quizzical look.

"Happy birthday, Dima." the presidential aide said as he pushes the box towards the prime minister. He laced his fingers together and stared expectantly at the prime minister to open his gift. 

"I would have preferred a bottle of wine," Dima sniffed as he slowly opened the box. The dull, blue eyes glinted in delight as he saw a pair of green cufflinks gleaming at him, cushioned snugly on the velvety insides of the jewellery box.

The presidential aide cleared his throat and averted his gaze, "I heard from my wife's friends that healing crystals are all the rage lately. Let's try all options to heal your h-" _Dima shot him a warning look that halted his spiel for a moment. "_ err, migraine. My gift is Seraphinite cufflinks, a crystal that came from Lake Baikal. They told me that it could heal physical ailments, even your wonky emotions. I assume that you are not fond of wearing any jewellery other than your watch, hence, cufflinks."

A delighted but teasing smile appeared on Dima's lips, "I thought that you do not believe in supernatural things?"

Vladislav Yuryevich tried to take the box back, but Dima gently stopped him as he rolled up the sleeves of his coat. He removed then worn gold cufflinks from his shirt sleeve and replaced them with the Seraphinite ones. He stored the old cufflinks on the jewellery box, giving it a long melancholic look before closing the box. 

"Why the long pause?" the presidential aide curiously asked.

"It's nothing, thank you, Vladislav Yuryevich."

Dima stored the box in his pocket and stared warmly at Vladislav Yuryevich. There is something in the prime minister's tone that gives off a sense of futility. The presidential aide gave an understanding nod to acknowledge his gratitude. There's a message that is floating between the two men, conveyed heavily through the silence. The grandfather clock tolls disrupting their solemn moment. 

"The State Council meeting is about to start; we should go to the meeting hall," Vladislav Yuryevich said as they both stood up from their seats and headed towards the door. "Before we go, you better drink your medication."

The prime minister nodded and pulled out a vial from his pocket. It's filled to the brim with a burgundy coloured syrup. Dima opened the glass container and winced as he took a sniff of the liquid, shrugged and downed all the contents in a single gulp. 

"I wish this tasted like candy" Dima moaned as he places the cap back into the bottle and stores it back into his pocket. 

"Medicines are supposed to be bitter." the presidential aide gave him a pat on the back and opened the door letting the prime minister pass through, and he followed suit closing the door behind him quietly. 

Unbeknownst to the two men, there's a spectator to their conversations. In his dimly lit office, Vladimir removed the headset from his ears and hid it in his drawer. He turned off his computer, stood up from his seat and went out of his office. There's an emotion that is stirring his heart as Vladimir bears witness at the tender moment between his prime minister and presidential aide. A thorn wrapped itself on his heart as he watched Dima discarding the trinket that he gave him and replaced it with the ones gifted by his presidential aide. 

_It's disconcerting that his prime minister is drinking an unknown medication, but he should not be concerned with the activities nor the condition of his discarded toy._

The guards opened the door of the hall, and a sense of satisfaction washed over him as the chatters seized, and everyone stood up when he strode inside the room, it decreased his anger as everyone cowered before him. As he reaches his spot, he offered his hand to the prime minister for a handshake, and his eyes caught a glimpse of the cufflink as Dima extended his hand and grasped his. 

_How he dearly wanted to rip it off._

Overcast skies and the earthy smell of the wet pavement greeted him as he stepped out of his limousine. The grey clouds that hung on Moscow's skies indicate a heavy, fleeting rain. Still, he cannot postpone this commemoration at a later date; it would be an insult to the memory of the ones that sacrificed their lives for the greater good of the motherland, a little rain is a minor inconvenience. He proceeds to greet the generals that welcomed him, exchanging quick niceties before going on towards his colleagues who are patiently waiting for him; clutching an even-numbered bouquet of red carnations on their hands.

He was pleasantly surprised to see his presidential aide in the crowd. His eyebrow rose as he shot a searching look at the presidential aide who merely gave him his signature smirk as they shook hands. He knew that the man does not have a penchant on attending government events; he saw those sharp brown eyes fixed up ahead. He briefly followed his gaze and saw that it's firmly fixed on his prime minister. The body language of Vladislav Yuryevich tells him that his presidential aide is here to observe and assist Dmitry Anatolyevich. 

He went up ahead and took his place behind the soldiers that carry the wreath. He and his colleagues started their slow and solemn towards the Tomb of the Unknown Soldiers. He stopped a few metres away and let the soldiers ceremoniously place the wreath on the stand. Large globs of rain started to fall out from the sky as they offered a minute of silence to honour the noble sacrifices of the soldiers that bravely fought for their country. 

The rain raged further as their national anthem began playing, and as it ended, he went up to the wreath and tried to arrange it overturned ribbon caused by the whistling winds that continue to whip them with a torrential downpour. He steps back from the memorial, and it is a signal for his colleagues to start placing their bouquets. Valentina Ivanovna struck up a conversation with him regarding some laws that he wants to pass; his attention diverts when he saw his prime minister. 

Dmitry Anatolyevich seems frozen in front of the memorial; his face is stark white and those dull blue eyes unseeing as he stood. The prime minister appears to be trembling, and he was starting to garner strange but concerned looks from their colleagues. Vladislav Yuryevich disrupts this sight as he elbowed his way towards the prime minister, rushing to his side. The presidential aide clutched his Dima's wrist, and the prime minister awakened from his stupor. Awareness seeped through the blue eyes, and he staggered towards the grave. Vladislav Yuryevich grabbed Dima's arm to steady him, preventing the prime minister from falling from the slippery stairs. Dmitry gave the presidential aide a beam of gratitude. 

Anger reared at his heart, and his lips curling in a sneer as he noticed the smile directed at his presidential aide. Resentment surged at his veins as this audacious scene plays out in front of him. Dima clings tightly into Vladislav Yuryevich's arm as they walked together towards the memorial. His presidential aide gently assisted the prime minister to crouch down and placed their carnation bouquets together. He politely excused himself out of the conversation and tried to get in a safe distance to eavesdrop on his pesky pawns.

Vladislav Yuyevich whipped out a handkerchief and started to wipe the drenched prime minister. Dima let out a soft laugh and batted the presidential aide's hands coyly; a bitter tang flooded on his mouth as he views this interaction. 

"It's useless, Slava," Dima chirped, and the presidential aide rolled his eyes. 

"What's with-" his presidential aide started but stopped when he noticed him lurking in the background. "Never mind, we'll talk about this later. Did you drink your migraine medication today?"

"I forgot."

The presidential aide sighed and pulled out a small vial from his pocket, uncapped it and handed it to the prime minister. Dima nodded in gratitude and drank the contents; Vladislav Yuryevich gave him the cap, and the prime minister placed it back on the vial before putting it back to his pocket. 

"Thank God, I came prepared." the presidential aide muttered. 

"Yes, thank you so much. By any chance, do you have any spare suits?" Dima laughs as he sees the offended look on the presidential aide. 

"Don't be a bum, prime minister! Go back to your office first and change then go back to me." 

"But it's a hassle and imagine the traffic!" 

"Traffic does not apply to us!" 

The banter between the presidential aide and the prime minister ended when one of Dima's bodyguard approached him and told him to take his place to view the parade. The prime minister smiled and nodded, bid farewell to Vladislav Yuryevich and stood beside him. His eyes briefly lingered on Dmitry Anatolyevich and saw how pale he is up close. The cold waters of worry doused the raging fire of anger on his veins. 

_His mind cannot help wonder about the condition of his former doll._

Vladislav Yurevich huffed in irritation as he set the paper down and massaged his temples; there's been unrest in Abkhazia. He has to deal with the mess; he has to settle it before it blows out of proportion. He doesn't want to deal with breakaway republics as of the moment. He perked up when he heard three soft knocks on his office door, and he hurriedly tidied up his desk. 

"Come in." he drawled.

The prime minister waltzes in, the usual solemn and melancholic mask that he usually wears are not present. He beamed at the presidential aide, and those dull eyes seem to regain a bit of its shine as it sparkled in joy. 

"Am I interrupting something, Slava," Dima asks as he sat down on one of the chairs in front of the presidential aide's desk. 

"No, thank you for coming because I need a distraction. What brings you here? Your meeting with the president is at 16:00." Vladislav stood up and walked towards the prime minister, ruffling his hair before he sat down on the adjacent seat. 

Dmitry pulled out a sheet of paper from his iPad case and handed it to the presidential aide. Vladislav read the contents, and a reflective look took over the usually sarcastic face. He gave the paper to the prime minister who waits patiently for his insights. 

"Well, what do you think?" Dima hesitantly asks as he watches the presidential aide laced his fingers together and let out a deep sigh. 

"I preferred the one they found in your e-mails, the flow is abysmal, but it's passable. I can feel the sentiment," Vladislav laugh as he saw the blush on the prime minister's cheeks. 

"I thought you were living under a rock." 

"Of course, I knew. It's mostly your Amazon purchases and, really Dima? Taking pictures of your colleagues during meetings is downright unprofessional for a prime minister." 

Dima crumpled the paper in his hand and threw it at the presidential aide who only gave him a smirk. The prime minister shrugged and opened his iPad and started to read his latest report for the president. He shows the document to the presidential aide now and then, asking for his inputs. Dima's fingers tapped into the screen furiously as he included Vladislav's suggestions; his movement stilled as a loud growl made itself heard. 

"Let me guess, you woke up late and rushed here, didn't you?" Vladislav sighed as Dima hung his head in shame. He stood up and went to the intercom and asked his secretary if she could bring up a bowl of soup and some snacks.

"Slava, it's fin-" he stopped when he received a sharp glare from the presidential aide. 

After giving his orders to his secretary, Vladislav fetched a Bluetooth speaker from his desk. He nodded to the prime minister who pressed something on his iPad; a piece of soft jazz music blared out of it. The presidential aide sat back down and started whispering furiously to the meek prime minister. Dima gave him a shy smile, and the whispering ceased when the office door opened. 

Vladislav's secretary came in with the snacks that he requested; she settled the tray on the table and left. The prime minister paused the song as the presidential aide placed the bowl of soup in front of him and shoved a spoon into his hand; he poured tea on the cups, adding three sugar cubes and a dash of milk to the other one and handed it to Dima. Vladislav picked up his cup and drank his tea. 

"Thank you," Dima said quietly, and he started eating as he got an admonishing look from the presidential aide. 

"Are you excited about your retirement? I heard that you refused another government post." the presidential aide casually asked as he settles his cup down to the table. 

"You can't call it retirement if you have some sort of on-call arrangement with the president." 

Dima sighed as he settled the spoon on the empty bowl; he picked up his cup of tea and took a long sip. Vladislav pushed a sandwich towards him which he politely declined. He settled the cup down and laced his fingers together, staring at the presidential aide in deep thought. 

"At least it is on-call and not stuck inside the Kremlin. What are you going to do on your first day, as some sort of a free man?" 

"Visit my first cat." 

"First cat? Dorofei?" the presidential aide asked as he poured himself another cup of tea. 

Dima shook his head and smiled at the presidential aide, "No. Dorofei isn't my first cat. There's a cat before him, Putka." 

"Putka?" Vladislav asked incredulously as if he cannot believe that Dima named the cat after their president, and the prime minister nodded in delight. 

"He's pretty old when he came to me, battle-worn from the streets. He's a handsomely fawn coloured cat, and he turns blond when the sun hit him just right. His eyes are blue and icy similar to Vladimir Vladimirovich; the similarities don't end there. They both hate Sveta with a passion, Putka and her never got along." 

Vladislav laughed out loud at the way Dima described his cat. His deep soft laugh echoed throughout the room. The prime minister waited for the presidential aide to finish his laughing fit, Vladislav stopped and cleared his throat and gestured to Dima to continue. 

"I plan to visit his grave; plant catnip bushes so he'll have company. I buried him in a cemetery located in the outskirts of St Petersburg." 

The grandfather clock tolls, the presidential aide looked at the clock, and a smile graces his lips. "Well, I must get back to work. Thank you for the distraction, Dima. You need to go now; it's not best to keep him waiting." 

The prime minister stood up, his face morphing back to the usual melancholic mask and the glint on his eyes vanishing, turning it once again into dull blue orbs. He smiled at the presidential aide, breaking the façade for a bit. 

"Don't you forget to drink your migraine medication." 

"Oh, right." Dima pulled out a small vial from his pocket, removed the top and drank the burgundy coloured liquid. "What will I do without you, mum?" 

Vladislav smiled scornfully at the prime minister and said playfully "Get out of my office before I kicked you out, brat." 

Vladimir Vladimirovich angrily removed the headset from his ears, tossed it in his desk drawer, closing it with too much force, rattling the trinkets on his desk. He turned off his computer and started to prepare himself to receive the prime minister. Frustration is running through his veins, does his presidential aide know that he placed a camera on his office? His lips curled into a smile as he realises that his presidential aide did a classic tactic, using music to hide his conversation from would-be eavesdroppers.

_What could they be hiding?_

His mind will not cease in flashing the image of his prime minister smiling beatifically to his presidential aide. Jealousy and anger lance through his heart as he recalls that he's usually the one to coax out those smiles from Dima. It has been years since he last saw those dull, blue eyes glinting in happiness.

A voice from his intercom disrupted his thoughts. "The prime minister is here for your meeting, sir."

"Let him in."

The prime minister entered the room, offering him a small, guarded but polite smile. 

_How he wishes that he's given the same smile that Vladislav Yuryevich received._

_He opened his eyes._

_He sat up and saw that he's laying on a field filled with red spider lilies. It worked, it seems that his ex-wife's ramblings work after all. He finally forced another dream, a break from the usual prime minister-centric ones that he's having throughout the past five years. He scanned the area; there's a dais in the middle of the field. However, the coffin on top of it is what caught his attention._

_He stood up and started to walk towards the coffin; however, his mind is shouting at him to veer away, for he would not want to see who's inside of it. His heart started beating faster as he gets closer, and he felt that it stopped as he peered and saw who was lying inside. Dmitry Anatolyevich is lying serenely on the coffin. A peaceful but self-deprecating smile on his lips._

_Decked on the colours of their nation's flag, the prime minister seems to be more radiant and splendid. The red spider lilies that lined the coffin enhances Dima's paleness. He has always known that Dima is resplendent in blue; it makes his eyes brighter, emphasising his innocence. He missed such colours on him, for the past years, the prime minister dons an austere set of black and grey suits; the brightly coloured neckties is the splash of colour that softens such a drab look._

_He knew that the prime minister would never wake from his eternal sleep. His mind continuously tortures his soul with such images; this time, it was his beloved lying in repose for him to see. However, the serenity of the man inside broke when blood seeps out of his lips. With a shaking hand, Vladimir reaches out to wipe it off, but the prime minister's lips parted, and a stream of blood and red spider lilies came out of those pale lips._

_He's late_

He's already at a terrible mood because of his dream, to think an inconsequential pawn will put him at such a state is unbecoming of him. There are myriads of thoughts racing through his mind every day. From strengthening his country and battling her outside threats occupies most of his headspace. However, there's a notion that disrupts this process; coups are not far-fetched dreams but hard realities. 

He was sure that the frequent visits of his prime minister to his presidential aide was never an innocent catching up with a colleague. His silovikis and spies merely confirmed what he knew all along; Dima is planning a coup against him. It would not be the first time that Dima has betrayed him; if it is needed, then he has no choice but to dispose of his doll to maintain the country's stability. Such a pity, he has a soft spot for his first toy, and he would take delight in breaking him further. 

_It irks him that the man has not arrived at his office, yet._

His prime minister must have taken a detour to the presidential aide's office. Confirming his suspicions, he opened his computer and looked at the security feeds. Fury surged at his veins at the scene that greeted him; his Dima and presidential locked in a tight embrace. The emotions between them are palpable; the president can feel the regret from his presidential aide and the reassurance from his prime minister emanating from the screen.

Vladislav hesitantly broke away; the prime minister gave him a sad smile and went out of the room. He furiously gripped the mouse, the plastic creaking at his unforgiving grip as he shook in anger. Vladimir angrily turned off the screen and tried to composed himself as he waits for his prime minister. He sees his office door opening slightly. 

"Come in!" he snapped. 

The prime minister went inside the room and noticed the flinch that runs through his body as he glared at him. Dima slowly walked through the room and sat down on the vacant chair in front of his desk. He studied the man before him, the polite and guarded smile that he loathed graces those thin and pale lips, and there's an unpenetrable wall on those dull, blue eyes which did not give anything that he can exploit.

_What happened to the transparent, easy to read Dmitry Anatolyevich that he met all those years ago?_

"I apologise for the wait, Vladimir Vladimirovich?" Dima said softly. 

_When did he revert to address him so formally?_

The prime minister opened up his iPad case and started his report about the steps that the current government is taking for a smooth transition next week, speaking in his usual soft clipped tone. He stared unblinkingly at Dima, who seems unfazed by his lack of response. The prime minister closes his iPad and sets it aside, and laces his fingers together as he waits for him to give orders or inputs regarding the plan. 

"Betrayal is something that I do not take easily, Dima." he saw those dull blue eyes widening as he stood up from his seat and grabbed the siloviki's report lying on his desk. 

"I know, Vladimir Vladimirovich," Dima replied quietly, a bittersweet smile flitting through his lips as he tossed the folder in front of him. 

The prime minister gingerly opened the folder and read the report; an amused glint briefly flits through those emotionless dark, blue eyes. Dima laughed softly, but it is hollow and empty. His doll ceased his laughter and looked at him; the bittersweet smile morphing into one filled with sorrow and disappointment. 

"I have no desire to disrupt your plans, dear president. I assure you that I am not planning such things; the only thing that I am planning for is my retirement." dull blue eyes stared at him, and it is setting his temper further as he read the message behind them.

_'I am not betraying you.'_

"Are you certain, Dmitry Anatolyevich. It did not even stop you from doing so, seven years ago," he said coldly as he angrily slammed a fist into the table startling the prime minister. 

"Yes, I am sure. If you doubt my intentions, you can ask the other person implicated by your silovikis. If you don't have anything more to say to me, may I take my leave?" Dima softly said and flashed him an uneasy smile. 

His mind replayed the scene that he witnessed earlier: the loving embrace between his prime minister and Vladislav Yuryevich. His mind shouted that this is unforgivable, graver than any betrayal that his doll did. He replaced him with a useless cretin that cowered before him. 

"Are you that eager to go back to Vladislav Yuryevich?" he snarled. 

His Dima momentarily closed his eyes, and his breathing became erratic. The prime minister's hands are gripping the armrests tightly as if straining against himself; when those dull blue eyes opened once again, he saw it darkening even more in agony. 

_Something's amiss._

The prime minister stood up from his seat and grabbed his beloved iPad. "My relationship with the presidential aide is not a government concern, Vladimir Vladimirovich. I'll take my leave." 

He prevented his prime minister from leaving as he grabbed his wrist. "Have I dismissed you, Dmitry Anatolyevich?" 

"Let me go!" Dima weakly tugged his wrist back, but he tightened his grip and dragged the prime minister towards him. Panic shone out of those blue eyes, and the man's breathing became laboured. 

"What did he ever do for you, aside from the failed protest, Dima? He's a useless pawn as much as you are," he told his struggling prime minister, and the panic vanished and replaced by anger. 

"Maybe you should not leave your toys lying around if you do not want such things to happen!" Dima hissed at him. 

_He saw red._

He backhanded him, sending the prime minister crashing into the floor. He angrily straddled him; he grabbed the weak hands that were trying to push him off and pinned it above the prime minister's head. He surveyed the man in front of him and baulked at the prime minister's state. The wrist that he's encasing in his vice-like grip is too bony, and the man underneath is far too thin from what he remembered. He stopped his observation and peered at the dull, blue eyes dilated in fear. Try as he might, the prime minister cannot squirm away from his hold. 

"G-get off me, plea-" he stifled Dima's pleadings as he claimed those thin lips. It's been years since he last staked his claim on his doll. 

He was expecting the usual warmth that he has missed, but now those thin lips are unnaturally cold. His eager tongue explored the prime minister's mouth; however, there's a taste that mingled with his tongue: the metallic tang of blood. 

_Did I hit him too hard?_

He broke the kiss and stared at Dima's gaunt face; his free hand gently touched the bruised cheek. His thumb grazes the cheek softly in apology, but his action seems to disturb the layer of make-up on the prime minister's skin, revealing sallow skin underneath. The prime minister is staring at him with eyes blown wide in fear and started trembling. He heaves, and blood pooled out of his lips, he watched transfixed as it cascaded down his doll's chin. 

He's rooted in shock from what he has witnessed, and he relaxed his hold. Seeing this as an opportunity, the prime minister freed his hand and pushed him off with all of his might and ran away from his office; he did not even turn back for his beloved gadget. He wants to run after him but decides against it. Shaking off the bewilderment, in his being; he went back to his desk, opened his computer and checked the security footage. 

_It can't be_

The prime minister is heaving in the courtyard, an ungodly amount of blood and red spider lilies burst forth from his mouth. Dima swayed and started to fall towards the pool of his blood if it was not for the timely arrival of Vladislav Yuryevich and catching the weakened prime minister. 

"I-I a-m so-sorry...bo-bothering you...pl-please...hide thi-" he heard his doll rasped as he slumped into the presidential aide's arms, passing out from exhaustion. 

Vladislav Yuryevich slowly slid down into the cobblestone floor and gently cradled the prime minister; his presidential aide shot a vicious glare towards the camera, letting him know that the subordinate knew of his sick hobby of watching his pawns through a screen. Vladislav Yuryevich removed his attention from the camera and redirected it towards the prime minister. 

His aide seems to panic as he rummaged through the prime minister's pocket and not finding out what he was seeking. He heard him hissed as he pulled out his bleeding hand from Dima's coat pocket. Vladislav Yuryevich calmed himself and retrieved a small vial that he has always seen, his medication. His aide opened it and tipped the contents into the prime minister's slightly parted lips. 

_He has seen enough._

He went out of his office, hastening his pace so that he can catch up with his prime minister and presidential aide. When he reached the courtyard, he was too late—the prime minister's car speeding away from the Kremlin. Vladimir stooped down and picked up a bloodstained red spider lily, the blood that coated the flower, and his hand is too warm. 

_You are losing someone that you took for granted, that you overlooked._

_Such a foolish cretin._

He restrained himself from backing on his momentary victory over his presidential aide. A wry smile appeared on his lips as he lost the signal from the tracker which he placed on the presidential aide's necktie, it served its purpose and has provided him with the vital information that he needs. His prime minister is seeking refuge on his upscale flat a few metres away from the Kremlin. 

There's an unknown emotion gripping at his heart, squeezing it harshly and restricting his breathing. This emotion that is traversing throughout his body freezes his blood as his mind replayed what has transpired. His hand fiddled with the red spider lilies that he brought with him; his nightmares manifested into an indisputable reality. He tightened his hold on the flower, how long has he been losing him? 

_He already lost him; the blinding light that once bathed him with its warm rays._

It was eight years ago when he lost his Dima. His envy fuelled his drive for power, as he captured the love of their citizens back by force. He destroyed their hopes and dreams of freedom; he ruined the one that gave them that absurd idea; setting his doll up to be hated by the masses. He tainted Russia once again with his darkness. He was not satisfied; he wanted to extinguish that light, breaking him and moulding him as an obedient doll that would only follow his orders—damaging the man's free spirit that allured him. 

He ended their arrangements, and the distance between them grew deeper. Acceptant of his fate, he merely received a soft, polite smile from Dima. He finally attained his goal of tainting such a pure soul and the game that he has set up became dull as the years passed. Why did it hurt then when his doll built up walls? He has always bowed low before him, hasn't he? Being the dutiful lover that never complained, that endured. 

_Passionate, full of life, albeit, he carries a sense of sadness within him._

_The blooms that are destroying his Dima from the inside suits him._

_The Herald of Autumn._

_He's as colourful as the leaves that the mighty trees shed creating a bright and vivid trail of colours that will never grace them._

The unknown emotion on his chest raged, it demanded to be acknowledged. It felt familiar; he digs deeper through his mind, and he finds that it's intertwined with the first time that he saw his Dima on the corridors of St Petersburg University. It's also present when he's given that genially soft smile which sparks weird and unpleasant movements on his heart. 

The emotion is paramount when he felt those soft, shaking fingertips tracing the contour of his face, passing through his features with such care and tenderness; tracing each line as if Dima is embroidering it in his memories. It surged further as those tender lips, land softly on his forehead and mouthed words against it, bidding him a sorrowful farewell.

He puts the unknown emotion on the back of his mind as his pessimism took hold and started to distort it, replacing those warm memories with his dreams. He felt the echoes of the warm blood on his hands as his fingernails broke the skin on his palm as he tightened his grip on the flower further. 

_Would he let his light slip from his grasp that easily?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think :D
> 
> Teaser (Chapter 4: Once Upon a Time, There Was You and Me): 
> 
> A month is quite excessive; I was not disappointed that I only have a week to live. My resignation is the end of my life, for Vladimir deemed that I already served him enough. I have nothing else to live for when my political life comes to an end.


End file.
